Second Chances

Something about her caught my eye. She was dying, that was evident. She was awkward, unusual, ugly.

I stepped away from her, I made my rounds, I filled my basket with bright healthy spots of color, and then I headed for the checkout counter.

But I could not leave. Not yet.

I turned around, and I traveled again to the back of the room, where I reached to the bottom shelf of the discount rack, and I picked her up.

She was heavy, and grimy.

I brought her home, and carried her outside, and placed her upon an old wooden bench, next to an old wooden chair.

I thought maybe I would untangle her, separate her parts (which didn’t seem to complement one another at all), and then perhaps I would replant, repot each untangled section. Perhaps at least one part of her would have a second chance to survive, maybe some of her would even thrive.

But when I attempted to separate her parts, her roots were so very tangled, I soon realized that if I tried to force it, all of her would most probably die.

And so, I left her roots be.

And I left her, and her tangled roots, in the corner on the old bench, next to the old chair. I gently cleaned her up a bit, I encouraged her with my words, and I gave her some water.

And then the sunlight found her.

The next morning, she looked just a bit happier. And the next morning. And the next. And the next.

That was back in early Spring…

Spring then turned to Summer, and now it is Autumn, and she is thriving.

When visitors grace my garden, they look around at all the greens, and the purples, and the yellows, and the reds growing from the ground, hanging from baskets, and tucked here and there in pretty pots….and they ooh and they ahh a bit about all the beauty that they see, and about the peace that they feel.

Their eyes travel from corner to corner, along the fence line.

And then, they see her - in her corner, on the old wooden bench, next to the old wooden chair.

And they stop, and they stare.

They can’t quite figure her out, but they are drawn towards her. They stay awhile, they analyze her, they wonder aloud about who she is, and about how did she come to be so unusual.

She is still tangled, her roots and her leaves. She is still a bit awkward and unusually arranged. But there is something about her that will not be ignored.

There, in her corner, she shines with a unique beauty.

Perhaps not the same kind of shine as all the other more classic beauty throughout the garden, but shine she does.

Winter is coming, and she may not have long to live. But she is very alive now.

She has many different parts, and someone mentioned to me they thought maybe the rose part of her is perennial. And they thought maybe some of her leaves hanging low were evergreen. Maybe. I don’t know.

But, even if nothing of her will return, or remain; even if this second chance is her very last chance at life; even if she will never see another Spring, or Summer, or Autumn; for now, she is determined.

She is determined to make the most of the wintertime she has left. She is determined to go out in a blaze of glory… A unique, tangled, awkward, beautiful, second chance blaze. of. glory.

I saved her life. And she is teaching me about second chances. Each time I look at her, she reminds me of myself. And she reminds me of hope.

Today it is cold and wet, and the rain will not stop. She is looking a bit droopy.

As I sit at my computer, in the warmth of my cozy little home, looking out the window at a garden that just a few days ago was drenched in sun and color, it occurs to me that for all our similarities, there is one very important difference between her, and me.

When I found her, she was almost gone. She was at the mercy of that bottom discount rack, she was the mercy of those who ignored her, and passed her by. She was at the mercy of me when I picked her up and carried her away - would I save her life, or discard her? She didn’t know. She didn’t have a choice.

And me? Yes, I may be at the mercy of time, and of a past I cannot change. And yes, I may now and then feel heavy and grimy, and as if I have somehow landed on the bottom-shelf of life’s discount rack, waiting for some passerby to notice, and for someone to decide that maybe there is some beauty left in me to salvage ... Yes. But, unlike her, I am not completely at the mercy of happenstance. Not yet. Choice is still mine.

I can choose.

I can choose to have mercy on myself; to pick myself up, off of that discount-rack-bottom shelf. Or, if need be, at the very least I can choose to call out for someone to help me up.

I can choose life. I can choose to believe that where there is even a spark of life, there is still at least a glimmer of hope, and that faith is the substance of that hope.

And I can choose to actively believe that where there is even a tiny mustard-seed-size of faith, nothing is impossible.

Be we plant, or be we human, circumstances of life beyond our control happen, and the seasons of life can add to us, or rob from us.

We humans, as we maneuver our way through life’s seasons and circumstances, doing the best we can with the tools we have been granted, sometimes we find joy, success, and satisfaction; And sometimes we are left with a sense of loss, and with regrets that weary us.

Even when we see the possibility of a second chance, we are tired, and it seems easier now to stay hidden away, on that metaphorical bottom shelf. It’s easier, when we are tired, to just stop trying.

But difficult circumstances, darker seasons, or even the devastating results of imperfect past decisions will never be able to obliterate the everlasting truths of faith and hope. These truths will always be here for us to grab hold of.

It may be easier to grab hold of hope, and faith in the Spring and Summer of our human lives, but even in the Autumn, even in the coldest and darkest of Winters, even then, hope and faith are still just as powerful as they were when life was brand new.

Winter may be coming. But I can still choose hope.

I can still choose faith and all its possibilities.

I can still choose to make the most of what I have now, to find joy in what is.....And

I can still choose to believe that nothing, absolutely nothing is impossible; leaving room in my prayers for ... second chances.

Connie Ruth Christiansen November 2, 2024